


the cold, the dark, the silence

by xylodemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who never saved Reek, and one who did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cold, the dark, the silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile)[**asoiafkinkmeme**](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/) , and the prompt _Five people who never saved Reek and one who did_.
> 
> This is a loose continuation of [salt in your veins/the devil beside you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/393002). Contains vague spoilers for _ADwD_.

[Robb]

 

Reek rests his head against the wall, a slow ache burning through his neck and shoulders, stabbing down into his belly, but he doesn't dare close his eyes. The rats come when he sleeps, squeaking and chewing; the screams are louder when he wakes to them, and the knives are sharper, but much deeper.

Robb hides in every corner, watching from the shadows, a crown on his head and a direwolf at his feet, his eyes hollow and dull, dark lines of blood banding his throat. His lips are cracked and bluish, nothing like the mouth Reek has almost forgotten.

 

[Jon]

 

Jon looks down at Reek with Eddard Stark's eyes, grey and cold, kicks away piles of piss-sour rushes as he crouches at Reek's side. He searches Reek's face in slow, curious silence, tugs on a lock of Reek's blanched, filthy hair until it frays and snaps. 

He pulls Reek to his feet, his hands stronger and rougher than Reek almost remembers. He holds his sword as he marches Reek outside -- despite the narrow slump of Reek's shoulders, the careful wobble of Reek's steps -- and Reek would laugh if he still knew how, if he wouldn't need to open his mouth.

 

[Asha]

 

The boy Reek used to be had a sister, long and lean and proud, short hair and sharp smiles, salt on her skin and iron in her blood and a dagger in her hand.

This girl is tired and skinny and dirty, her clothes torn and hunger narrowing her face to tight lines and angles. She looks right at Reek, looks right past him, and a slow, hollow ache twists into his chest.

She doesn't know him, but the harsh crack of her voice reminds him of clear skies and sea air and the dull creak of a tacking ship.

 

[the Faceless Man]

 

Reek's cell grows darker and colder every day, the walls pressing together, closing in. His face and hands are sticky with blood and fur, but a hollow pain twists in his belly, and the holes in his gums ache with memory and loss.

He doesn't see her come in, doesn't hear her move, doesn't know she's there until her hand is around his throat.

She might look like Jon, grey eyes and a narrow face, but Reek closes his eyes as her fingers tighten, digging into the greying skin under his chin, figures she's just another shadow, just another ghost.

 

[Stannis]

 

Reek slouches into the wall when he hears footsteps, curls his hands against his chest when the door opens.

Stannis frowns at him from the doorway, his back straight and his hand on his sword. His face is cold and stern and gaunt; he ignores the putrid smell, the rats running past his feet. 

The light flaring behind him burns Reek's eyes, and the sudden rush of fresh air stings Reek's throat. Stannis' surcoat is bright red -- the color of blood, of the things hidden underneath Reek's skin -- and Reek covers his face with what is left of his hands.

 

[Jeyne]

 

Winterfell is broken, blackened and burned, but it still lives, still survives. 

Jeyne visits him every day, in the same room he'd slept in as a boy; she sews him new clothes, cuts his meat into pieces he can chew, helps him walk out to the godswood, her small hand holding his arm.

She kisses him under the heart tree, her warm lips just brushing his cheek. She has a scar on her neck the size and shape of Ramsay Bolton's mouth, and Theon uses his good fingers to stroke her hair, to trace the soft lines of her face.


End file.
